Shatters of Glass
by radamof
Summary: Look, I'm alive! This is just a compilation of some of my previous fics; 'Shards of Family', 'Slivers in the Snow', 'Shattered Reflection' and 'Splintered Hope'. Be warned, these are fairly dark. Please, review :)


Shatters of Glass

Shards of Family

We were going to get married and be the happiest people in the world.

After all, we were in love, and therefore the world was ours. Correction: we are in love. But the world is no longer ours.

Perhaps it's my fault. Perhaps if I didn't – deal – with things the way that I did, we would be free. 

And my beautiful Narcissa wouldn't cry herself to sleep every night.

That's where the real pain is. If Narcissa was happy, then I could put up with anything – even this legacy that will be passed onto Draco – my Draco! – if it is not fulfilled by me.

But she can hear what they say about her. She knows what they say behind her back, and every time she goes out she has to sit quietly and count to ten, over and over, just so she won't lose control. So the sniggers and expletives whispered when she shouldn't be in hearing don't hurt her, don't cut her to the heart, don't over and over drive her to the point of self-mutilation.

I can rest assured that suicide will never be her way out, though. After all, she is a Malfoy – well, that's how I would explain it to everybody else. But Narcissa, my beautiful white queen, is too strong for suicide. She believes that she deserves this punishment – for what? – and therefore will stick it out to the end.

She doesn't deserve the punishment, unless she is to be punished for loving me.

That's not how it should be. I never asked for this, this legacy to be passed down to me, this prophecy. But I will be damned if I let my beautiful Draco have to live through what I'm living through. I will never – never, I promised myself – enter his bedroom and shatter his dreams inside a minute. I will never force him to repay the ancient debt that our family owes the Riddles.

I will never force him to put on such a front to the world, such insincerity that it aches deep inside of me.

The blame does not rest with me, but the responsibility will. I will not have Draco's family destroyed like mine is. 

I will not shatter. I will not break. I will not force somebody to pick up the broken prismatic shards of family that would be left if I were to fracture and cause such a rift.

Please god, save my wife. She didn't hurt anybody. And please, god, save my son.

Don't punish the ones that I love for that simple fact.
    
    Slivers in the Snow

He's working late again. It's because he's too ashamed to see me – too ashamed to see Draco – too ashamed to see anybody. 

He should never be ashamed – my darling Lucius. He works so hard, but tries not to worry me.

I'm not worried. I could never be worried with Lucius around. I love him; he loves me, and that's all that we need.

But for his sake I do have a wish.

I wish that Salazar Slytherin had never had an heir. I wish that this heir hadn't grown up to have children, or that these children hadn't had children, and so on.

Or I wish that Lucius' namesake – how he hates to be reminded of that! – had not entered into the debt of a Slytherin.

Because after that, no Malfoy had the chance to make a choice. Throughout the centuries there was always somebody who held the power. Always a descendant of Slytherin.

It seems odd that she married a muggle – Tom Riddle was his name. A nice muggle, to be sure – but still, the disgrace of marriage between an heir of Slytherin and a muggle threatened to ruin the family.

I wish it had. I wish that the family had been ruined.

But no. Instead they had a son, who went to school with Lucius – and I – and all the time knew that Lucius was under his control – that the debt had not been paid.

My poor Lucius. My darling Lucius – too kind, too generous for his own good.

He locked away his hopes, his dreams, to fulfil a duty. A duty which threatens to cripple him, break him, until all that is left of my love are slivers in the snow that surrounds our manor.

I do my duty, as well as I can. I feign superiority, pride and whatever else the occasion calls for, and I appear the perfect Malfoy. And he sneers, and feigns arrogance and cruelty, and whatever else Tom Riddle insists on.

I have my escape, but this is one thing that he is without. While I can return to our home and lock myself into our bathroom and pull the sharp blade to my wrist over and over, he merely bows his head and continues on with work.

And Draco doesn't know that his father isn't happy, and nor does he know about the debt. Lucius would never have him told.

One day Lucius will pay off the debt, and that is a day that I both long for and fear. Because once my beautiful strong love has paid off that debt, the guilt of the crimes that he has committed to pay it off will consume him, and he will be lost to me once more.

But I love him, and will not give up.

Please God, look after my noble, broken Lucius. 

Do not blame him for what is not his fault.

Shattered Reflection

I wonder what it's like for my mother and father. They love each other so much, and yet are not happy. 

Odd.

I wonder what it would be like to grow up in a family without love. Perhaps then I wouldn't take it for granted.

Ha. That's a joke. So, love is this miracle, right? This everchanging **thing**, that makes everything alright.

Bullshit.

That's the biggest lie I've ever heard. Love is weakness. I'm surprised that my father – that my father _believes_ in it. It's sickening really – it goes against everything that hes every taught me, everything that he believes in.

So he's a hypocrite. My fathers a hypocrite and my mother's not well. I don't know, I think she's really sick.

Her skins always bruised, and she says that he can't heal it. 

I'm scared. There are some diseases – diseases that muggles get as well that can make you die from bruises.

Leukemia. It's such a pretty word. It slides off the tongue well. 

Maybe if god makes me suffer, my mother won't have to. I promised him that every time she smiles, I will hurt myself until I draw either blood or tears. 

She doesn't smile very much. So I don't have to hurt myself very much.

I think that she isn't smiling because I'm cheating god. 

I don't hurt myself because she smiles. I hurt myself because I like it. I like having the control to put my fingers down my throat and bring up all of the food that was in my stomach.

I wonder what the others at school would think of that – people such as prodigal Potter and mudblood Granger. I wonder how far beyond their own pathetic lives they look. Perhaps then they'd see their good friend Neville has more parental issues than the rest of Gryffindor put together. That Parvati and Padma Patil are bound to each other by something stronger than blood and so much more _deliciously_ evil. Hell, even Crabbe and Goyle have their problems.

Yes, it's good having such an influential father. I guess that's the only good use for _Daddy Dearest_ – as the local gossip-monger.

I swear, I will never follow in his footsteps – I will not be so weak and hypocritical. 

That is, if I live that long.

Dear god – will a straight swap do? I can't live without my mother – but she can live without me. Please god….help me here. I'm going to make one last deal with you – a straight swap. If you let her get better, then I'll make sure that I suffer – that I die a torturous death….I promise. Please god, just make her better.

Splintered Hope

'Padma? Are you there?' I called down the shadowy stark corridor.

She suddenly appeared through a doorway, casting a dark shadow on the white floor under the flickering light.

'Yes?' She asked coolly.

'He wants you through there. There isn't long to go.' For a moment her face crumpled, and then she regained her composure. 

'Sure.' With a smile painted on her face.

She came back a few hours later – she hadn't spent all of that time with him, a lot of it had been merely contemplating the world. Her face was expressionless – mirroring mine, I guess.

'He's gone?' I ask, a mere formality. I don't know the answer, but I also don't give a damn. As long as he isn't at home, I really don't care what he does.

She nodded. 'Yes.'

We stand in the hallway, in the same pool of light. With an annoyed flick of her wand and a few muttered words, the flickering light flickers no longer, and we stand in the darkest part of the hallway.

The irregularity of the lights now annoys me. With so many dead lightglobes that haven't been replaced there is no symmetry in the hall. She sees this and smiles slightly, but does not comment; and so we stand in silence.

'So, what now?' She asks – maybe this is minutes later, or maybe time has stood still in here and it is really a hundred years later outside. Do I care, either way?

'Now…now we're free.' The word tastes revolting, tastes dirty. She looks at me, as though sickened by the thought.

'Free….'

'Free from him, free from each other, free from fear, perhaps.' The words have no emotional connection, I have no idea what that word means. Perhaps it leaves my mouth differently, perhaps the letters are jumbled creating reef, or eref. I don't know, nothing makes sense, I don't know what anything means and I don't want to.

I didn't want any of this. I didn't want him to inseminate our mothers before killing them. How dare he, how could he kill them? I want a mother, damnit, I want something resembling normal.

I want to go home and see my Hogwarts diploma hanging the living room wall. I want to drink coffee with my mother, tell her how my day was, and have her look after me when I'm sick.

I want to have a glory chest full of special items – first baby tooth – favourite teddy bear – favourite picture book. I want to have photo albums, full of photos and then, later, flowers carefully pressed between the pages.

But most of all I want my mother….I want her to be all mine – nobody else's, just mine. I'm selfish to want her all to myself, but I don't care. 

It's not like it's going to happen, though. No, thanks to _Daddy Dearest_, my mother is dead.

He didn't even _Avada Kedavra_ her. First it was _Crucio_. He hurt her until she couldn't take it any more. Until she decided to take her own life. 

And then he killed her. In such an ordinary, muggle way – a dagger in her heart. He slit the throat of Padma's mother, then laid them together. Double suicide, they said. They took their own lives. Sad situation, said the authorities, but at leat the two girls have their father. They'll be okay as long as they have their father.

Yes. We had our father.

He wasn't a death-eater. At least I can say that much for him. He in no way supported Voldemort – although, that's only because he is selfish. No. Sorry. Was selfish – never will be selfish again. Never, never, never.

Nope. Still not connecting. I mean, I can hear these words in my head, and yet….they don't mean anything yet. I can't seem to comprehend that he can't hurt me anymore. It just doesn't make sense – I am alive, therefore I will be hurt by my father.

I wonder if Padma feels the same way. We may look similar…but there are so many differences in the way that we think, and act. 

She never fought back. Perhaps that's what I should have done – been submissive, let him satisfy himself without raising a kafuffle. 

No, I couldn't have done that. I couldn't bear it. But I'm sure he liked it better with me – he always enjoyed a struggle. 

Ugh, why am I thinking like this? The man was a monster.

Was? I'm doing it. The memories don't seem – don't seem so bad now. I mean surely….surely if he had been _that_ bad, the all-knowing Dumbledore would have done something. Wouldn't he? I mean, I was no Harry Potter, but surely he would have cared about us enough to help us. Surely, if it really was as bad as my memories suggest he would have realised that we were…

'We were abused.' Padma is staring at me, I think. She may just be staring. She hasn't heard my thoughts, I know this much, it's just hard to think about anything else. 

'Yes.' More silence, except this is a conscious silence, each waiting for the other to speak.

'Well.' She breaks the silence, I feel a secret, silly satisfaction. 'The question is, do we tell anyone?'

'No.' The word shoots out of my mouth. I couldn't bear for it to be dragged up now, when nothing could be done.

'Good.' I can see that she agrees. 'So, now we….'

'Now, I'm going to walk down the corridor this way, you will walk in the opposite direction. We will both be at his funeral, of course, but will be too involved with the guests to talk to one another. We're going to lead our separate lives. Then, in fifty years or so we'll run into each other at some conventional, ordinary place. We'll re-acquaint, make peace with our past, then promise to keep in touch. But we won't.'

She nodded, an ironic twist on her mouth. 'Okay. Well, I guess this is goodbye.'

'Yep.' We both stand there, daring the other to make the first move, until in one impulse we reach towards each other and hug. After a few seconds, we break apart. Nod. And then turn away.

The hall echoes with two girls walking away in symmetry, footsteps in time.

See, I'm alive! Thank you to everybody's who has reviewed any of my fics, your comments truly are appreciated. School has almost finished for the year, and then you'll see an explosion of work from me! Please, review.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. For that I'm glad, because I'd hate for anybody with authority to desecrate these characters as I have.

Please note, I do not in any way encourage abuse, suicide, or any other dark theme brought up in this story. If you're tempted to harm yourself, realise that you're not alone – if you want anyone to talk to, I _love_ e-mails. :)


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